So apparently I'm going to be on internet radio tonight.
L.S. passed me a Tweet from Cynthia Paulson (@CynLuscious) who will be playing a song that I either wrote and/or sang on with Hepnova a couple years ago.
6 P.M. Pacific
Unfortunately, I have no idea what song they're playing. So I'm slightly, as in downright, terrified.
This is the paradox I faced for years when I was an active playwright. I had two things going for me as a youth: prolific output and guts. I wrote a lot and I put stuff out there. And people would pick it up - my plays would get produced or workshopped; I got invited to participate in the Play-A-Thon, where I wrote an under 10-minute play in 1 week, using 2 characters and 3 props that I pulled out of a hat on the first day. (That was my debut as a butch dyke on stage - so convincing that no one recognized me after I changed back into my femme clothes for the bow.)
Unfortunately, the problem with youth is that the work an artist produces at a young age is not always great. So I had plays read that I now cringe when I think about. (It's probably my internal critic berating me and they might not have actually been that bad.)
However. My singing has, without a doubt, improved by millionfold. Let me put it this way:
When I first wrote for and recorded with Hepnova, I was an alto. Now I'm a soprano.
My upper range is completely opened, my belt and mix range is higher than I ever imagined and I can switch from jazz broadway to legit to bel canto on command - with the proper placement.
I couldn't do that before.
So it is with great trepidation that I tune in in half an hour to see if the world is going to hear a novice singing a song written in 2 days. Oh lawdy.